The hall lay in suffocating silence, heavy and absolute.
Then—a laugh, sharp and cruel, cut through the stillness like a blade.
The man on the first throne leaned forward, eyes glinting with dark amusement.
"So," he said, his voice low, deliberate, "Malakar is dead."
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the hall felt colder. Death had arrived… yet here they were, unmoved, calculating.
The second throne-holder let out a soft, almost sarcastic sigh. "So… he wasn't the chosen one after all?"
The third smirked, lips twisting cruelly. "Pathetic. All six… they failed."
The first throne-holder waved a hand dismissively. "Makio, I trust you won't interrupt the newbies' little fun this time."
Makio rose slowly, each step echoing across the cold stone floor. His gaze swept the hall—icy, unreadable, analyzing.
"I see," he murmured. "As expected."
He turned toward the exit, the sound of his footsteps like the tolling of a bell in the silence. At the doorway, he paused.
"There's no use arguing with you," he said softly. Then he left.
The first throne leaned forward, eyes glinting with malice.
"We must remain vigilant. The newly chosen six… we must find them. And bend them to our will."
The second chuckled low, dark and dangerous.
"Especially the one with the blue core…"
Their laughter spilled into the hall, wicked and echoing, devouring the silence once more.
---
Far away in Ethoropia, the body of the fallen tree cutter Roven lay still beneath the shade of an ancient tree. Declared dead, he was buried quietly, soil pressed down by unseen hands. Darkness swallowed the moment, cold and indifferent, as if fate itself was holding its breath.
---
On Warshatter II, a lone figure stood upon a cliff, overlooking a battlefield littered with corpses, broken weapons, and the remnants of shattered armor. The wind carried the scent of blood and ash, and the silence of the world was deafening. The figure did not move, did not speak—only observed. Then, without a sound, it turned away and disappeared into the swirling mist, leaving nothing but the ghostly echo of presence behind.
---
And then—the world faded to black.
Somewhere in that darkness, Mavis appeared.
Alone. Endless void stretched in every direction. No ground. No sky. No horizon. Only absolute, crushing darkness. A silence that felt alive, waiting for him to make a single sound.
He stepped forward, tentative. Each footfall seemed impossibly loud, echoing in a place that shouldn't allow sound.
"What is this place?" he whispered, voice trembling. "Am I… dead?"
Silence swallowed his words, thick and suffocating.
He moved on, slower now, panic beginning to creep in.
"Is this… the pathway to hell?"
The void pressed against him from all sides. His heart raced. His breath caught. He sank to the ground, overwhelmed by the emptiness.
"Damn… it's too dark. Nothing but darkness," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Where… where the hell am I?"
Suddenly—a faint flicker of blue light appeared in the distance.
Mavis's heart leapt. "What—?"
He ran toward it. The light brightened as he approached, but every step it slipped farther away, evading him, teasing him like a living entity.
"Hey! Is someone there?! Stop! I'm safe!" he yelled. His voice sounded strange in the void, echoing endlessly.
The blue light vanished. Mavis froze, his pulse hammering.
Then—a blinding flash erupted behind him, sending him stumbling forward.
He closed his eyes, shielding himself. When he opened them—
He was falling.
Endlessly. No ground beneath, no sky above. Just the void swallowing him whole.
"What the—?!"
Suddenly, a massive figure materialized beside him. A knight, towering, clad in heavy armor. A single blue eye glowed beneath its helm, and a faint aura of cold blue fire spiraled around him. Its hand landed on Mavis's shoulder with the weight of a mountain.
He whipped around—but the knight vanished as if it had never been there.
Then, behind him, another figure emerged. Seven feet tall, blue hair flowing like liquid fire, eyes piercing as cold ice, aura spilling from him like a storm. Its hand pressed gently on Mavis's shoulder.
Mavis turned—but it was gone again.
Blue fog coiled around him, twisting and writhing as he continued plummeting. Then—he crashed into freezing water. The shock stole his breath. He struggled to surface, lungs burning, body trembling from the icy pain.
A tiny island emerged ahead. Something grabbed his leg, yanking him downward. He thrashed violently, muscles screaming, until he finally broke free and crawled onto the shore, collapsing, soaked and exhausted.
When he lifted his head, a figure stood a short distance away.
Mavis forced himself upright, stepping closer—but froze.
It was him.
A version of himself—predator eyes glowing intensely blue, long fanged teeth, claws sharp and glinting, hair wild and untamed. It perched on a twisted, unnatural tree, watching him with a feral grin.
Mavis's throat went dry.
"What… are you?"
No answer.
Fear coiled inside him like a living thing—but he stepped closer.
"Who are you? Where am I?"
The creature's grin widened. Slowly, deliberately.
"Welcome… young boy."
The air thickened around him. A pressure descended on his chest, heavy and suffocating. A crushing aura rolled across the island.
The twisted tree vanished.
Mavis spun to escape—but the creature appeared in front of him, impossibly fast.
Its claws shot forward, plunging into his chest.
It tore out his heart.
Mavis went limp—falling into darkness.
Then—his eyes snapped open.
He sat upright, gasping for air. Morning light streamed through his window. 7:00 AM.
His body trembled uncontrollably.
"What… what the hell was that…?"
And in that void, staring back at him with impossible familiarity… Mavis realized the some real nightmare had only just begun.
---